The dark corners of europe
by Archie from the bunker
Summary: He was a pious man and a devoted servant of the Messianic voices, but what happens when he realizes that there's more to life then following a cause? Dark ages: Mage fanfic, but vampires and other fun guys make appearances too.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

* * *

Count Talbot's carriage was making it's way, slowly but steadily, towards the count's castle. The castle stands in guard of the town of Viola, wich in turn was bound to Toulouse. It was Dusk and the Count was drowsing off to sleep. He felt compeletly safe, after all, he was accompanied by his five most skilled knights, and they were travelling on his land, wich he knew to be mostly clean of bandits and others such threats. Even though a superstisious man, he wasn't even afraid of the many eerie threats inhabiting the dark corners of france, for he had received a blassing from a bishob while in Paris.

And Paris was from where he was currently coming home from. He had made many benefical trade contracts, and also scouted for a new spouse. His wife had passed away several months ago, befor even giving him a heir. Even though it was common knowledge now that the Count was looking for a new wife, not a single nobel had yeat offered him their daughters. He thought it was because the other nobles were ashamed in fron of his great wealth and political power and therefore didn't feel worthy of giving him their daughters, but the real reason might have something to do with the Count's repulsive appearance, two extra chins, almost no hair on his head and fat greasy hands, or his cruel habits of abusing his servants and even his late wife. Indeed, many had susoected that the wife had taken her own life, and rather spend eternity in hell then another day with Talbot. The lady had been found dead in the shoreline of a nearby lake. Animals had eaten the body so badly that the jewelry she had worn were the only distinguishable traits on the body. That, and the fact that there were now burial ceremony, raised many questions. People found out however, that being too curious about the Count's business was a quick way to get publicly whipped.

Seeing how the ride would take at least another hour, Talbot thought that a quick nap would be in order. Just when the comfort of sleep was taking him over, the carriage came to abrut stop. Nearly falling of his seat, the Count angrily pulled away the carriadges curtain.  
"What's going on?" he yelled at the knight riding beside him. The knight was Sir Hans, the Count's right hand-man. Nearing forty years of age, Hans had seen many battles, even a crusade. A pair of thin moustaches decorated his weary looking face.  
"Seems to be some sort of roadblock, sire." He replied. "We'll see if we can take it down."  
Talbot took a quick peek down the road. Indeed, a rather large roadblock had been built there, out of lumber and mold, wide enough to cover the whole road.  
"Well, be quick about it." Talbot snapped and tried to find a comfortable position on his seat again.

Soon after that, Talbot heard a scream. Then the horrified neigh of several horses, wich was immediately folloved by violent shaking of the carriage. It continued for what seemed an etenity for the Count, then stopped a s suddenly as it had started. The Count was breatingh heavy, and over his own rapid heartbeats he could hear the sound of running horses, running away of the carriage apparently. Shouting, sounds of swordfighting and occasional grunts and screams of pain.

Talbot was frozen with fear. The warm feeling of security he had had for the whole trip had been swept away in less then a minute. The fact that he could recognize all the voices screaming in pain to be his knights and had no clue about the attacker, nearly cost him his underwear.

Suddenly the carriages door was pulled open. Talbot screamed and turned to the door, and saw sir Hans. He had lost his helmet and had a cut on his forehead, left side of his face was covered in blood.  
"Your lordship, quickly! You must escape!"  
Talbot tried to stutter quoestions to Hans, but was unable to produce any complete words. Not getting the reaction he was going for, Hans grabbed Talbot and pulled him out from the carriage. Landing on his stomach, Talbot was quickly pulled up by the loyal knight.

Feeling slightly dizzy from the landing, Talbot looked at the source of the ruckus. All the horses had ran away, even the ones pulling the carriage had tore their bonds to escape, ergo the shaking. Two of his knights lay on the ground, daggesr sticking out under their helmet collars, te other two were fighting their unknown assailant, who seemed to be just one man. The setting sun was right behind them so Talbot couldn't make out what the attacker looked like. Sir Hans shoved Talbot towards the nearby woods.  
"The horses ran that way, sire. You might be able to catch one of them." Sir Hans hastily instructed his lord. He knew that the fat count would never be able to catch the horses, but he might get away from the danger and find his way to Viola. "We'll deal with this and come after you." Said Hans and turned to the fight, only to see other one of the knights get stabbed right trough his with a sword helmet, while the other was tripped , and upon falling to the ground, stapped under his helmet collar with a dagger. Letting out a fierce roar, he charged towards the attacker.

Talbot took few fumbling steps, then tripped and fell to the ground. He rose up and sat on the ground, fear, and 20 years of gluttony, having taken away all of his energy. He looked at sir Hans as he charged at the enemy. Sun had set enough for him to finally see the attacker.

He was a man of regular size, but seemed very lean and graceful in his moves. He was dressed in what seemed to be some sort of mix between robes and a tunic, with a long overcoat and a hood. He had long golden hair that was showing from under the hood. In his hands he wore leather gloves and wielded a sord in his right hand and a dagger in the left. All his clothes were colored brownish, regular colors, the kind of that don't catch your eye in a crowd.

Hans charged, wielding his sword in both hands. His first overhand chop was dodged swiftly, after wich he released a quick succession of horizontal slashes and stabs. The attacker parried them all, but seemed to be unable to counterattack. Hans was thinking feverously what he'd do next. His opponent was indeed skilled and he couldn't see much with his left eye, since it was covered with blood. He was holding him off for now, but he'd have to actually land a hit to down his opponent.

Suddenly his opponent parried another of his stabs and took a sidestep to his left side, a blindspot. He tried to stab Hans in the knee, for the armot had a soft joint there. But the stab missed an inch, only scratching his armor. Hans saw his chance, grabbed the man with his left hand by the shoulder and ran his sword trough his chest. Hans was just about to yell out in joy, but was immediately stabbed in the throat.

Talbot couldn't believe his eyes. Sir Hans had just impailed the attacker, but he didn't seem to mind. After he had stabbed sir Hans and pushed him off himself, Hans's sword just slid right trough him, without even leaving a trace on him. After that, the attacker turned towards him. At this point count Talbot lost the control of his bowels.

The attacker, now covered in sir Hans's blood, walked up to Talbot.  
"Please..." sobbed Talbot. "I'll give you anything... Anything you want..." Talbot could now see the man's face. He seemed young, not much over 20 years old. He had a cold, emotionless expression on him, his piercing blue eyes straing at Talbot, and it felt like he was staring straight to his soul.  
"Your wife." said the man. "I'll take your wife."  
"My wife? But, but I..."  
"Already traded her away?" interrupted the stranger.  
"What?! I'd never..."  
"But you did." He interrupted again, in a cold tone. "To the tree knights who promised to clear your lands from bandits."  
The Count's panick started to reach critical mass.  
"That's why you had to masquerade one of your servants as your wife and quickly bury the body, so that nobody would figure you out." The stranger's face started to darken with rage.  
"Pretty good deal, wasn't it? They'd guarantee that you would never suffer from bandits again, so that your traderoutes would be safe and you'd make more money. And all it took from you was the wife you despised anyway." said the stranger, clenching his fists in anger.  
The Count was now plubbering and sobbing apologies and pleas for mercy.  
"Quiet!" the stranger commanded. Then he pointed his hand at Talbot and yelled:  
"Intereo!"  
Talbot's body stiffened, and dark fog started to pour out from his mouth. As the fog left his body, it felt like his inner organs were going with it. He felt searing pain as his life force was quite literally sucked out from him. He was shaking, his eyes and ears started to bleed as the fog gatherer on the strangers open hand. When all of the fog was in his hand, Talbot had turned pale and was covered in his own blood, now bleeding also from his nose and scalp. The stranger spoke again:  
"For dealing with the forces of the devil, God will lay his punishment on you, and I, Jacques Romain Georges Cousteau of the Messianic voices, shall be His convey." and clenched his hand in to a tight fist, crushing the fog, wich caused talbot to let out his last breath. As Talbot's lifeless carcass fell to the ground, the assassin turned his back to the bloody sight and walked away.

* * *

Man, the first real writing I've done in years and it looks like crap. Well, ti me at least. Please R&R.


	2. Chapter 2

Jacques made his way to a clearing in the forest nearby the grisly scene which had seen the end of count Gaspar Talbot's life.

Jacques was a man in peak physical condition. He wasn't of large size, but his body was lean and strong, with ripped muscles underneath his clothes. Strength wasn't his strongest point however, it was his speed and quick hands. His quick wits and ruthless efficiency were also traits you wouldn't want to overlook.

Even though his looks hinted otherwise, Jacques was almost thirty. His young looks were both an advantage and disadvantage, for many of his enemies underestimated him, and on the other hand many people who didn't know him well had the habit of not taking him as seriously as he would deserve. His looks couldn't fool those with a keen eye however, for had you inspected his face close up, you would see the toll years had taken on him, small scratches here and there, dark areas around his eyes and whatnot. Life in 13th century Europe wasn't easy for anyone.

Jacques finally made it to the clearing, where his companion was guarding their horses. His comrade was Edvin De Toibin, an Englishman. He was several years older then Jacques, and also a man of larger frame. He had a thick black beard, complete with moustache, and he was wearing a plain tabard over his chain mail armor. His black cape had been turned in to an impromptu supporting bandage wrapped around his right arm.

"I take it that the deed has been done?" inquired Edvin.  
"Yes." was Jacques's quick reply. "God's justice was delivered."  
Edvin rolled his eyes. "Stop with that overzealous preaching an just admit that you killed the man." said Edvin as he heaved himself on his white steed, Bentonius the 5th.

"I only followed orders." Jacques said, with slight anger in his voice, then pulled himself in the saddle of his horse, Saucisson.  
"You always do." Edvin said as they left the clearing.

They were members of Messianic voices, an order of christian mages that dated all the way back to 25 AD, founded by St. Delius. Or maybe 'mages' was not the correct name for them, they considered themselves to be blessed by god, and their 'spells' were miracles channeled trough them, all part of God's plan.

Jacques and Edvin were both Presbyters and were on a mission from Toulouse. Their next step was to report back to Exarch Percival Beaumont. The mission was to capture count Talbot and bring him in for questioning, then to be handed over to the inquisition with the necessary proof. Of course they'd have to be extremely careful when handing over the count, for the Inquisition wasn't too open minded when it came to mages, be they Christians or not. The count had been easily tracked by the 'blessing' that had been given to him in Paris. The blessing had actually been a spell that placed a magical mark on the count, one that made him as easy to find as a bonfire in the middle of a five square meter field, for those who knew how to look. Mages did. The bishop that gave the blessing had also been a Messianic.

The mission had had a slight hiccup. When building the roadblock, Edvin had accidentally dislocated his shoulder. Thankfully Jacques, knowing a fair bit of medical science, had been able to give him some first aid and to press the shoulder back to it's socket. However, after his injury Edvin wasn't really in shape to fight, so it had been left to Jacques to handle the capturing of the count. Or if capturing became impossible, eliminate. The conclusion of the mission had been rather predictable for Edvin, who had worked with Jacques for years. This didn't keep them from arguing about it.

"So tell me, how did the as-tall-as-wide count prove impossible to capture?" asked Edvin with a sarcastic tone. Jacques gave him a glare.  
"You're saying that you don't trust my judgement on the subject?"  
"When it comes down to a decision of 'capture or execute', no, I wouldn't. Capturing people isn't really an assassin's forte, now is it?"  
"I'm not an assassin anymore." grunted Jacques.  
"Oh that's right, assassins tend to get paid for killing."  
Jacques's face turned slightly red as he turned to Edvin:  
"I am not a killer! I've given my life in to service of God, to protect his children. If that sometimes requires me to end the life of a infidel or a pagan then I'll gladly oblige!"  
Edvin flinched at the sudden outburst. It wasn't unusual for him to poke Jacques nerves, his short fuse was an idle target, but even Jacques wasn't usually this quick to anger.  
"Well you seem to be on the edge today. Is something amiss?"  
Jacques turned away from him and seemed to calm a little.  
"I'm.. I'm sorry Edvin. It's just that I've been expecting a shipment from Paris for a long time now, all for naught. It is a package of great worth for me, and lately the thought of it having been lost has made me a little short on patience."  
"A package?" Edvin said, as he raised his eyebrow. "Letters from your sweetheart back at Paris, perhaps?" Edvin chuckled. A deep sigh from Jacques followed.  
"If it only was something so trivial. Besides I'm no good with women, you know that."  
"Well now, that's only because whenever I always lure the women away from everyone else when I'm around" Edvin laughed. This also made Jacques show something that almost looked like a smile.  
"I'll just have to spike your drinks with some diarrhea herb next time." This was enough to silence Edvin's laugh.  
"That being said, I'll be coking tonight" Edvin noted.  
"Fair enough. How's the arm by the way?"  
"Oh, this? Feeling better already."  
Jacques gave Edvin an analyzing look, and then poked his shoulder with a quick jab. This made Edvin shiver, grit his teeth, mutter a few curses trough his lips and shed a single tear. After all that, he turned to Jacques with wet eyes, saying:  
"See? Doesn't hurt at all."

They were able to travel only for few hours, for the sun was setting and they'd rather travel during the day. They set their camp on a small hilltop near the road. Much of the work was Jacques's to do, for Edvin couldn't do much without his other hand. There were thick woods surrounding the hill, so finding firewood was easy. They didn't need a tent, for though the nights were getting colder, it was still only September.

They ate a rather enjoyable meal, that is if you enjoy food made mainly of charcoal, made of rabbits and some mushrooms Jacques had found whilst gathering firewood. The meal hadn't been as much of a culinary experience as it had been an endurance test, but after the long day that they had put behind them, they made quick work of the food.

After the meal Edvin took off his armor and lay down on his bedroll. Within minutes, his thunderous snoring filled the air. Jacques was left alone, sitting next to their dying bonfire. Lone sparks flew up from the fire, only to be whisked away by the chilly night wind. Seeing the sparks dance in the air was rather hypnotic, and after watching the fire for a while, Jacques felt his consciousness drifting away. His blinking became slower and his head started to slowly drop. keeping his eyes open became harder and harder. Slowly, but surely, his head dropped against his chest and his eyes slid shut.

Thousand sharp hooks. All pulling his body in different directions, tearing flesh and tendons. Liquid flame being poured in to his mouth, his hair burning. Sharp talons wrapping around his spine, twisting it and causing his body to writhe in to unnatural positions. Finally, a pause. Just long enough for him to take a deep breath, followed immediately by his lungs burning.

Jacques's sleep came to an abrupt end when he fell down from the rock he had used as a seat. He was breathing heavy and was covered in cold sweat.  
"Merde!" he said to himself as he had caught his breath. "Damn nightmares again..."

As he looked around, still shaken from his night terror, he saw that the fire had gone out, and also that an eerie fog had risen around the hilltop. Jacques stumbled on his bedroll, and as he lay there, he turned his gaze up to the sky. He concentrated, and was able to hear the song of the Archangels.  
"Let these weary travelers rest in peace, so that we may continue doing Your work in the day to come." he prayed, and felt a familiar power flowing trough him. The power of Archangel Repha-el placed a ward over the hilltop, one that would warn him of any intruders. His mind at peace, Jacques once again tried to rest, although slightly afraid of falling asleep.

As the Christians were sleeping, a pair of amber eyes peered at them from the woods. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

Feeling a strong tug in the back of his head, Jacques was pulled back from to reality from his dreams. At first he didn't really understand what had woke him up, but as he felt a slight stir in the air, rich with the aura of Repha-el, it hit him. The wards he had set around their camp had been triggered. This sudden realization made him jump up from his makeshift bed and look around for the intruder. Still groggy with his sleep, his hands fumbled around looking for his sword.

He couldn't see much, for the only source of light were the stars. Even though his eyes were already almost adjusted to the darkness, he couldn't see any direct threats. No movement. No sound. Except for Edvin's snoring. Still, something just wasn't right. That something made the hair in the back of his neck stand up.

His hands finally met his sword. He grabbed the hilt firmly and slid the long steel blade out and threw the scabbard aside. He kept the sword ready while stepping over to Edvin. Few jabs with his foot were enough to wake Edvin.

"Danger." was the only explanation he gave him, but when Edvin saw how keyed up Jacques was, eyes wide open and his head spinning around nervously, he didn't really require any additional info.

Edvin was just about to stand up when Jacques whispered to him:

"Stay here." and dashed downhill in to the woods. Saying a silent prayer to Uri-el, he vanished in to the shadows.

Between the mist and the darkness, Jacques wasn't sure which obscured his vision the most. Silently he made his way forward, wrapped in shadows. He wasn't sure what it was that has made him leave his injured companion behind, but something just called for him, something otherworldly, something he couldn't, or didn't want to, resist. All his senses alert, he moved on. Cold sweat started to surface on his forehead, and with the humidity of the mist, it made his hair to stick on his face.

A faint 'thud' behind him, made Jacques spin around and slash with his sword. However, his sword only cut a tree branch. His heart was pounding, and he was continuously looking around, the strange feeling he'd been feeling since waking up was getting stronger and stronger.

A sudden wolf howl in the distance made Jacques flinch, and jump in the shadow of a large oak, pressing his back against it. It had been a lone howl, not one made by several wolves, which calmed Jacques a little. A lone wolf wouldn't be a threat, and besides, the corpses he had left behind yesterday should keep every carnivore in the near- and not so near vicinity occupied. Unless the feast had just made them lust fro more, in which case he and Edvin were pretty much screwed.

Another howl, this time closer. Much closer. Jacques peered around in the darkness frantically. He was sure that any moment now, some dark beast would charge at him and tear him to pieces. This thought nearly came reality, when a large, dark figure approached him from the mist. Jacques turned to face the figure, pointing his sword at it, ready to lunge in to attack.

"Are you quite done?" the bearded figure asked, in a familiar English accent.

"Edvin?"

"My pardon if you were excepting some hellish monstrosity. At least that's what you look like."

Edvin came out from the mist, and like Jacques, he too was cloaked in darkness. He hadn't put too much clothes on, just his pants and cape, this time resting properly on his shoulders and wrapped around his torso, probably because of the chilly night wind. He was carrying his sheathed sword in his left hand. Edvin sneaked over to Jacques, who was still edgy and on alert.

"Can't you sense that?" he asked in a confused tone. "There IS something supernatural up and about." Jacques insisted.

"No wonder. You just stumbled upon a cray." Edvin said.

Jacques turned around and looked at the tree. "This?" he asked. On a closer look, the tree wasn't just an ordinary tree. It was a rather massive oak, one that had probably seen more winters then both of the men combined.

"Just goes to show, you need to fine tune your sense of magic more." Edvin said as he started to cycle the tree.

"Says the man who didn't recognized Stonehenge until he spotted the stones." was Jacques's counter.

"Quiet, you."

As they came to the other side of the tree, it's true nature was revealed. The tree had actually grown over a large stone pedestal, which was covered in runes. The runes gave out a dim glow when passing clouds let the moonlight shine on them. It was indeed a cray, natures own source of magic. Jacques placed his hand on it, and felt the magical energy, quintessence, which he had used in preparation for the attack on count Talbot, return to him. He only took a small amount of energy, since the cray felt rather small to begin with, and he didn't want to suck it dry.

"The real question is, why didn't we feel it when we turned in for the night?" Edvin wondered.

"Well, we were rather exhausted." noted Jacques as he peered in to take a closer look at the runes. "Not to mention that it's a really small cray. It also gives me the feeling that the moonlight somehow affects it."

"Affects it enough to wake you up?" Edvin wondered.

"No. I woke up because something disturbed the wards I placed over the camp."

"Really? I didn't see anything when you woke me up."

Jacques rolled his eyes. "Well neither did I, or did you miss the part where I said 'danger' and was furiously looking around?"

Edvin scratched his chin and said:

"How sensitive were those wards?"

"Why do you ask?" Jacques inquired as he turned away from the tree.

"I just had a thought... Maybe someone did enter the area you warded, but did it from the Umbra. Do they extend in to the spirit world?"

"That's not a possibility." said Jacques. "If the wards were to react to every Umbrood passing by, it would be like setting a bear trap in the middle of a road; most likely unintentionally triggered by a passerby."

"Well, whatever it was, it hasn't attacked us yet, so I assume that wasn't it's purpose. God knows that it had it chances. Especially since you left your crippled friend alone to wander a dark forest, just waiting to get stabbed in the back." said Edvin in an accusing tone.

"Ehh..." Jacques felt a wave of quilt wash over him. "I couldn't' help it, the cray, it... Called for me."

"Well, as long as you take more care in the future." said Edvin as his accusing tone eased up. "You did look rather bewitched, to be honest."

"Speaking of the cray, what should we do with it?" Edvin wondered.

"Well, it does have a heretic feel to it." Jacques said as he again turned to the tree. "We could destroy it."

"Wait." said Edvin. "Don't move."

Edvin crouched and walked around the tree, watching the ground and running his fingers trough the blades of grass, feeling the ground as he did.

"If I had to guess, I'd say that this is either an unknown cray, or a cray rarely used, not a pagan religious site."

"What makes you say that?" asked Jacques.

"If it were a religious site, there would be signs left behind by large groups of people, especially in summertime like this. The ground would be trampled around it, as well as the grass would be. Just like trampled dirt paths don't have much grass growing on them."

"So we should just leave it as it is?"

Edvin shrugged his shoulders. "That would be the smartest course of action, in my opinion. Besides, we can use it ourselves if the need arises."

Their conversation came to an abrupt end when they once again heard noises. This time it came from nearby bushes, someone, or something, was moving in there. They both turned to the bushes, Jacques pointing his swords at them and Edvin ready to draw his sword.

"Who goes there?" they shouted as one. No immediate response was given, but a figure stepped out from the bushes.

It turned out to be a woman. She had a tan skin and long dark hair. The look in her brown eyes revealed how alert she was. She was dressed in a long asymmetric skirt and rather revealing blouse. She also had a scarf on her head, and few pieces of jewelry, bracelets and a necklace, and few rings. By the looks of her she was probably in her late twenties. She had high cheekbones and quite a wide mouth, and a slightly pointy nose. Overall, she was a very attractive woman, her only negative feature being a long scar across her lips, left side of her mouth.

"_**She's a gypsy**_." thought Jacques to himself.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he asked in a stern tone.

"Oh, my deepest apologies monsieur." she answered. Her voice was soft, but it had certain sharpness to it. "I didn't know that this here forest was your property." She said with a smirk.

"Answer the question!" Jacques snapped back at her.

"Oh, but of course!" she said. "You're them en with the swords, so you make the rules. Isn't that how it goes?"

Both men, especially Jacques, now felt quite silly about themselves, threatening a single woman with swords. Blushing, Jacques put his sword away and Edvin eased the grip on his.

"Thank you monsieur." the woman said, smiling."Now, since you asked so nicely, my name is Tamara. Might I ask yours?"

"Jacques Cousteau."

"Edvin De Toibin."

"Oh, so they can be polite if they want to." she remarked an walked closer to the two men. Her jewels glittered in the moonlight, although she didn't really need them to look attractive. Just now Jacques noticed that she was barefoot, but walked with light steps. From the natural looking way she moved, he could tell that she obviously spent a great amount of time barefoot.

She stopped in front of them and folded her hands on her chest. "Now, seeing as how I was the one being threatened with swords, wouldn't it be fair if you told me what you're doing here?"

Jacques tried to think en excuse of some sort, but to no avail. You see, when talking with suspicious individuals, Jacques had a habit of keeping a constant eye on their hands. This habit, however, had just bit him in the ass. Tamara kept her hands right next to her quite lovely bosom, and Jacques's eyes had wandered away from her hands. With Jacques 'enchanted', it was up to Edvin to explain their situation.

"Well, you see madame, there was an intruder in our camp. We thought that he had stolen something and ran after him, but Alas, he managed to outmaneuver us in this dense forest. You didn't happen to see anyone, did you?"

"Unfortunately no, I didn't" she answered.

Jacques managed to get himself together. "And what were you doing here, alone, in the middle of the night?"

"I'm looking for my brother." she said as he walked over to the tree. "He's been missing for over a week now, and I'm worried. We used to play here, around this tree that has swallowed a stone, when we were children." She said as she laid her hand on the stone, and slid it on the jagged rune covered surface. "I though I might find him around here, but so far nothing. I overhead you talking over here from my camp, it's not far away, and hoped to find my brother. No such luck I'm afraid."

"If your brother is a grown man, then what's there to worry?" Edvin asked. "If he wants to leave, why not let him?"

"My brother is... Not well." she said, with a tired sounding voice. "He doesn't have everything well up here." said Tamara and tapped her forehead.

"What do you mean?" asked Jacques.

"He's a grown man, but has the mind of a child." she said, with a heavy sigh. "And, like a child, he needs someone to look over him. He can't live on his own, especially not around people who don't know about his... Condition."

"Are you sure that he still lives?" asked Jacques, with all the subtleness of an earthquake. For this, he received a slap on the head from Edvin.

Tamara didn't seem to mind, for she let out a short laugh. "Oh, my brother, even though dimwitted, has lived in a gypsy camp his whole life, he knows a thing or two about surviving in the wild. And when all else fails, he'll steal." she giggled.

"It's not about his survival that I'm the most concerned." she continued."He is strong as a bull, but doesn't understand his own strength. I'm worried that he might accidentally hurt, or kill someone."

"Why are you looking for him alone?" Jacques asked.

"This is a problem between two family members." Tamara said with a serious tone. "I'm not going to make anyone else worry about my brother. I'm the only family he has, and I'll help him. I wouldn't even have told you about it, but I didn't feel like getting stabbed." She turned back to the two men and leaned to the tree. "So, gentlemen, what will you have of me?"

Jacques took a step towards her. "On the behalf of us both, I apologize. We were tired from a long journey and overreacted. Would you be so kind as to join our camp for the rest of the night? We would repay our rudeness by guarding your sleep. And you have nothing to worry, we are men of God. You'd be perfectly safe."

Tamara smiled. "Thank you... What was your name again?"

Jacques did a quick bow. "Jacques Romain Georges Cousteau, madame."

"Well, Jojo," she said, mixing the names 'Jacques' and 'Georges' together for a nickname. "I'd love to join you, but I'm afraid my mule would become jealous." She then did a quick bow back and walked right past Jacques, brushing his shoulder. Then she disappeared in to the same bushes she came from.

Jacques didn't mind the the brush, on the contrary. Like her appearance, Tamara's scent was a lovely one too. It was the scent of every flower of the spring, with a subtle fraction of honey.

Jacques was pulled back to reality by a swift smack on the head by Edvin.

"All right, wake up so we can go back to sleep."

Jacques blushed and lead the way back to their camp. Once there, the marked down the location of the cray, as well as casted new wards, several ones this time.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The sound of church bells woke him up. He sat up on his hay mattress and winced in pain. The draft didn't do too well with his shoulder. It had been the receiving end of a vicious axe strike few years ago, which had almost cleaved his arm off. It had healed up quite well but still gave him some trouble from time to time.

Jacques looked around his room. The grey, cold stone walls looked like something you might find in a dungeon, not a monastery. Well, at least his room had a window, albeit a small one.

Four walls, with a small window on the northern wall, up near the ceiling. It was so high in fact, that it never completely illuminated the room. Writing and other similar jobs required at least a candle. There was a desk next to the door, which was on the southern wall. On the desk were some parchment, ink and quill, a candle and a bible. Next to his bed, which was on the north side, was a trunk for his personal belongings and clothes.

He and Edvin had arrived to Toulouse yesterday evening. After encountering the gypsy woman, their trip had been rather uneventful. Their base was in a small monastery. Upon arrival, they had given a quick report to their superior, Exarch Jean Amoussou. It had been quick because both men were weary from the trip, and knowing that the only thing between them and a real bed was the report, it ad therefore been short. When Amoussou had pressed the issue, Jacques had promised to write down the report as soon as possible.

As he got up and started to get dressed, he took a long look at the desk. Then his eyes shifted to the window that let trough a ray of sunlight, and he could hear the sounds of the city trough it too. His eyes moved back and forth between the desk and the window.

"**A brisk walk before work would be nice,**" he thought to himself. "**Just to check out the city. Maybe I'll grab some bread from the marketplace.**"

He and Edvin were both transferred to Toulouse from Paris almost half a year ago, since Toulouse only had few Messianics, and out of those few even fewer were that experienced. After the transfer they had both been busy training the other Messianics and handling missions they couldn't, which included most of the missions their order came across. Jacques was quite sure that he deserved a break, even if that break was just for few hours.

Jacques got dressed in similar clothes that he had on the recent mission, although this set of clothes was actually clean. He left his chain shirt in the trunk, but he did take his sword belt, and he hid a few daggers in his clothes. You can never be too sure what's going to happen, as his mentor had taught him. He also took with him his greatest treasure: his journal.

It was a small booklet with blank pages, or at least the pages he hadn't yet written on were blank. With the book was some pieces of coal that he used to do the writing, wrapped in cloth. He liked to keep a track of his life, mainly because he didn't really have much to remember his youth from. Writing in the journal always made him more relaxed, and he liked to play with the thought of himself someday having children, and showing them his journals. He had already filled out a couple of journals, and was making short work of his current one. They were expensive to acquire sure, but it was an expense he could afford. The order didn't actually pay them for doing the missions; it only provided them with the necessities. However, Jacques had done some pretty good deals in his life, and received a fat check every other month from the bank of the Templar Knights.

Now dressed and geared up, Jacques made his way out of the monastery. It was a small building, more like a church with bedrooms for a handful of people, and a kitchen. All the others were attending the morning sermon, and even though he and Edvin had just returned from a mission, they were both expected to attend. Edvin probably was already there, but alas, for Jacques was a weak, weak man, temptation go the better of him. For someone like Jacques, it was child's play to sneak out without anyone noticing.

With a slight giddy in his steps, Jacques ventured out to the city. Even if the countryside did have much cleaner air, the city just had that something that pleased Jacques. It was probably the large amount of people. Outside the city Jacques always felt like he stood out from others, like he was somehow abnormal. In the city he could blend in to the crowd, he could go without notice, just like anyone else. Not that everyone walked around with a sword on their waist, but still.

* * *

Jacques made his way through the city. It was just waking up, but already full of people going on with their lives. Butchers were bringing animals in for a ´´treatment´´, bakeries let out almost divine scents, and at the city gates travelling peddlers were selling their exotic products, spices, linens et cetera. In the center of all this, was Jacques, inhaling the city's aura. The Gauntlet was very strong here and magic felt weak, which was a pleasant chance. Every now and then Jacques liked to forget who he was. Forget all about the Messianic Voices; forget all about magic, even if just for a few minutes. To be free.

But this was all foolishness, caused by the weakness of man. Soon enough, Jacques reminded himself that his powers were a gift from god, something that he could never be thankful enough. He pushed away such doubting thoughts, and turned back towards the monastery. He's have to make amends for missing the morning sermon.

Just when he did that, he bumped in to a familiar face. Exarch Amoussou was walking right behind him.

He was rightfully surprised to see the Exarch, thinking first that he had been followed. But after seeing an equally surprised look on Amoussou's face, he realized that it must be a coincidence. God, it seems, has a sense of humor.

Jean Amoussou was a thin young man, several years younger than Jacques. His skin had a slight dark tone and he had short black hair. His chin had a stubble, which never seemed to come off, no matter how he shaved. He was dressed in simple but nice looking clothes, and he wasn't that bad looking either. He was carrying a package and seemed to be deep in thought before recognizing Jacques.

"Jacques," Amoussou said with a dry voice. "Looks like you didn't feel it necessary to attend the morning sermon?"

"It would seem that I'm not the only one, Jean," Jacques said. Amoussou hated it when Jacques called him by his first name. He usually called him by his last name, or just call him ´´Exarch´´ but sometimes, to annoy him, he just said ´´Jean´´. When notified about this his usual reply was that since Jean was younger then him, he'll call him whatever he likes.

Amoussou gave him a stern look.

"I had some important business to attend to, concerning the order. What's your excuse?"

That managed to shut Jacques up, which in turn pleased the Exark. He handed the package over to Jacques.

"I picked this up from the bank. It was sent to you."

Jacques's face lit up in smile and he snatched the package from Jean's hands. He gave him a quick nod as to say ´´thank you´´, and ran off. Amoussou was left standing alone, more than slightly confused.

Jacques ran through the crowd, dribbling between people and squeezing the package against his chest like it was his newborn baby. He made his way back towards the district where the monastery was located. After running for a good while, he stopped for a breather. Hlooked around, and when he felt like nobody was looking at him, he slid in to an alley. In the alley he kneeled behind some crates, and carefully cracked open the package's corner and took a peek. His smile from earlier got wider. Carefully he closed the package again and stepped out from the alley. Now walking, he made his way back to the monastery.

He entered the monastery and stepped in to the church hall. The hall had six rows of benches and a small altar. Near the entrance, on the left, there was another door which lead in to a hallway. The hallway made a fork , one way leading to the kitchen and dining hall, and the other leading to the bedrooms. The others present gave Jacques nasty looks for his skipping of the morning sermon, but he let them flow right through him. He went straight in to his room and stashed the package under his matress.

"**Tonight, finally.**" he thought to he turned to his desk and sat in to the chair in front of it.

From one of the desk drawers, he took out a piece of cloth which had partky been dipped in tar earlier, and flint and steel. Herolled the cloth in to a tight roll, and hit the flint and steel together to create a spark. A spark did come out, and it hit the tar end of the cloth, lighting it on fire. Jacques quickly picked up the cloth and used it to light his candle. He then smothered the cloth, extinguishing the flame. He then opened up a bottle of in, dipped his quill in it and begun writing down his report. He wrote down everything, how they prepared to the mission, how they set up their ambush, the battle, and finally how they came upon the cray. For some reason, one that he wasn't himself quite aware of, he left out the meeting with the gypsy woman.

* * *

Jacques was just starting the second report, sincce Amoussou would surely demand an extra copy of it, when the door swung open. Jacques turned his head to the door and saw one of the monastery's Catechumens, younger mages. He was a youg man, barely considered an adult. He was wearing monk's robes and had short dirty hair.

"Presbyter Cousteau, Exarch Amoussou sent a word for you."

Jacques put the pen down, rose from his chair and turned to the Catechumen, who flinched when their eyes met.

"What's this about?"

"That I do not know. I was just told to tell you to meet him at the Blue hog tavern, within the hour." After this, the young man hurried away.

"Merde," muttered Jacques under his breath, as he wrapped the complete report in to a roll. He closed the the door of his room behind hims as he made his way out from the monastery, and in to the now busy streets of Toulouse. It was already midday.

It was a seedy little tavern in the outskirts of the city a stone's throw away from the city's walls. One floor and a basement. No space for minstrels or other such additions, just the bar counter and tables to seat somewhere around twenty people. Not that there usually were that many customers. It was such a quiet place, that many suggested that the barkeep got his monay from other affairs that were going on in the taver and its basement.

Jaqcues opened the thick door and entered. There were no windows, so the only source of light was several lanterns around the tavern. The air was stale and had a stench of mildew to it. The bartender was dozing off behind the counter, and there were no other patrons present, only Amoussou, who was sitting at the corner closest to the door, pint in hand. Jacques walked up to him and took a seat.

"Here's the report," he said as he handed the parchemnt over. "If this is about the morning sermon, then I..."

"It's not," the Exarch interrupted. "The order has a new mission for you."

Jacques gave a silent nod. Truth to be told, he hadn't even had the time to wash the clothes he wore on the last mission, but it was his responsibility to do as his superiors command.

"Where does this mission take me?"

"To the commune of Albi. It is located on the River Tarn 50 miles northeast from here. I trust you know the way?"

Another nod.

"There has been some civil unrest, Cathars I believe. They were mostly wiped out by the inquisition, but it would appear that some survived. The underground Cathars have been causing trouble to the good Catholic people of Albi, and tensions are high."

"Am I to find these Cathars and dispose of them?" Jacques asked in a cold tone.

"No. We will do something to them, have faith in that, but not yet. This mission requires some finesse from you. You will be attending a wedding."

Jacques had a honest look of bewilderment on his face. "A wedding?"

"Yes. The son a wealthy merchant is marrying a girl, who's entire family was executed by thew inquisition."

"They were Cathars?"

"Indeed." Amoussou took a sip from his pint. "We have a reason to believe that the girl's more distant relatives might try to foil the wedding. That's why we are sending you there."

"I see," Jacques said and scratched his chin. "But is it really necessary? I mean, if there's a threat like this, then surely the merchant would hire guards?"

"Certainly. But there is a chance that the Cathars have sorcery on their side. That's why you're going there, to make sure that if there are any heretic mage present, they'll be dealt with."

Jacques nodded. "When will the wedding be held?"

"They'll be held when you get there. After all, you can't have a wedding without a priest," Amoussous said with a grin, and took another sip from his pint.

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me. You've had the training of a priest, it's time you put it to use."

Jacques turned his head away and pondered for a moment. Then he looked back at the Exarch.

"I understand. If I may, I'd like to leave as soon as possible. If I leave immediately and ride hard, I might make it there for tomorrow evening."

"Exellent." Amoussou put down his pint. "God-speed Jacques. Be ever vigilant and do not stray away from His divine path."

Jacques stood up. "Goodbye Exarch Amoussou. May you keep a firm grip on you shepher rod whilst I'm away." Then he turned on his heels and left.

While walking back to the monastery, Jacques thought about the package under his matress and in his mind went through all the profanitys he knew. When he finally thought that he would have an evening all to himself, what do you know, another mission. Oh well, work before fun. Besides, one of the most sacred rites of christianity, a wedding sermon, was at stake.

"**Who am I to put my own needs ahead of those of a soon-to-be married couple**?" he thought to himself. He really was lacking in discipline today.

But the upcoming task made him nervous. He was actually going to be responsible of guiding a young couple in to the harbor of marriage. Responsibility over others was something that Jacques wanted to avoid. He wasn't afraid of getting hurt as the result of a mistake he made. But the fact that someone else might have to take the fall from his mistake…

* * *

Back at the monastery, Jacques started to back his saddlebacks. There wasn't all that much packing to do, since he hadn't really had the time to unpack his bags after the last trip. Some rations, new set of clothes, a priest's cloack and his chainmail shirt, which he put under his clothes. It made him feel a little hot, because he had to wear an extra shirt between it and his skin. Tough choice, sweat or get stabbed.

He also packed few more extra daggers(you can never have too many of those), and his journal.

After packing, he took a long look at his bed. He pondered, gnawed his lower lip and then finally took the package from under his matress and put it in the bag.

He carried his bags over to the stables, located on the other side of the road next to the monastery. There his beloved steed, Saucisson, was waiting for him. He saddled him and together they rode out from the city and headed northeast.


End file.
